Witching Hour. Sara Craven

you. I was standing back so I could look at the stone from a distance when you appeared out of nowhere and began your incantations.’

      ‘I had every reason to believe I would be alone,’ she said coldly. ‘And do you think you could switch off that spotlight of yours—always supposing you have seen all that you want,’ she added with icy sarcasm.

      The torch remained on. He said, ‘Tell me something—are you always so prickly? Even in that weird cloak with your hair all over your face, you’re an attractive girl. You must have had men look at you before this.’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘But I’ve always been able to look at them too. The present situation is a little too one-sided for my taste.’

      He said, ‘But easily remedied.’ The torch beam swung up and away from her and she saw him properly for the first time. He was tall, his face thin, with prominent cheekbones, a high-bridged nose and firm mouth and chin. And his hair was fair, lighter altogether than Rob’s, and longer too, reaching almost to the collar of the black leather coat he was wearing.

      Morgana thought, ‘A fair man—but it can’t be … it couldn’t be! I don’t believe it.’

      As if he could read her thoughts, he began to smile, deep laugh lines appearing beside his mouth.

      ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

      She wanted to ask, ‘Who are you?’ but the words wouldn’t come. Then the torch snapped off, and there was only the darkness and the howl of the wind, and the tall dimly seen figure who said quietly, ‘And perhaps you have, at that.’

      He was coming towards her, and she recoiled involuntarily, her hands flying up in front of her to keep him away. Then she stumbled against a clump of grass and went flying.

      ‘Dear God!’ The torch flicked on again, as she lay there, winded and humiliated, and he bent towards her pulling her up, his voice abrupt as he asked, ‘Have you hurt yourself? Are you all right?’

      ‘I’m fine.’ She’d twisted her ankle slightly and it hurt enough to make her wince when she put her weight on it, but she wasn’t going admit it. She didn’t want him to touch her again. He’d put his hands under her arms and lifted her as if she was a child, and she’d hated it.

      He said harshly, ‘When I said you’d seen a ghost, I wasn’t trying to frighten you. There was no need for you to leap away like that. What I meant was that I thought I possibly reminded you of someone.’

      Morgana could have said quite truthfully, ‘You remind me of a number of people. You remind me of at least half the portraits hanging in the long gallery at home, except that they’re all dark, and you’re fair.’ But she remained silent because there was still an outside chance it might all be a coincidence, and she could be wrong. Under her breath, she prayed that she was wrong.

      He said sharply, ‘Well?’

      She shrugged. ‘I don’t spend my life looking for chance resemblances to people I know in local tourists. We have too many of them.’

      ‘I wasn’t talking about chance, and I think you know it.’ His hand gripped her arm, bruising her flesh, and she said with ice in her voice, ‘Would you let go of me, please?’

      ‘When you’ve answered a few simple questions. For starters, what’s your name?’

      ‘If this is a new version of the pick-up, then I’m not impressed,’ she shot at him.

      ‘I’m tempted to make a very different impression on you.’ His voice slowed to a drawl, but now he didn’t sound amused at all. The torchlight was on her face again, and his hand moved from her arm to grip her chin. She wanted to pull away, but she wasn’t sure she could evade his grasp, and it would be another humiliation to struggle and lose. So she remained very still, making her eyes blank, enduring his scrutiny.

      At last he said slowly, ‘I’m Lyall Pentreath. And unless I miss my guess, you’re my cousin Morgana.’

      ‘Brilliantly deduced,’ she said huskily. ‘And what are we supposed to do now—shake hands?’

      ‘I think it’s a little late for that.’ His voice was dry.

      ‘We expected you this morning.’

      ‘I was held up.’ He let her go and stepped back, and her breath escaped with a little gasp of relief.

      ‘More business, I suppose.’ She made no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.

      ‘Of a sort.’

      ‘I suppose it didn’t occur that my mother and I would be waiting for you—would be worried?’

      ‘Frankly it didn’t.’ A match flared as he lit a cheroot, his hands sheltering the flame against the snatching wind, and she saw his mouth twist cynically. ‘I hardly imagined I would be the most welcome visitor the Polzion House Hotel had ever had.’

      She’d heard the edge in his voice when he mentioned the word hotel, and she made her own tone blank and a little wondering. ‘You resent the fact that the family home is now a commercial enterprise? I’d have thought as a business man yourself, you’d have been delighted.’

      ‘But then,’ he said coolly, ‘I would hardly describe that particular venture as a commercial enterprise.’

      Morgana was silent for a moment, her brain working madly. Far from lacking interest in his inheritance, it now seemed he was only too well informed. But where had he gleaned his information? she wondered. Was that where he’d been since this morning? Going round Polzion, asking questions? She flinched inwardly as she thought of some of the answers he might have been given. On the other hand, it was far more likely that he’d found out all he wanted to know through correspondence between his solicitors and Mr Trevick, who would have been been bound to be frank.

      She decided to proceed cautiously. ‘I admit we’re not the Hilton, but we make out.’

      ‘Do you really? You seem to be alone in that opinion. From what I’ve learned, the hotel seems to owe quite a lot of money to a number of people.’

      She was mortified, but she made herself reply quietly. ‘Yes—we do, unfortunately. But it’s been a bad year.’

      ‘It must have been a succession of bad years if all I’ve been told is true.’

      ‘If you want to put it that way,’ Morgana agreed, numbly hating him.

      ‘I don’t, believe me.’ His tone was dry. ‘After all—a hotel in surroundings like these. It’s hard to see how it could fail.’

      ‘In the course of your snooping, you may also have noticed that Polzion isn’t exactly Newquay,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m sorry if we haven’t come up to your expectations, but no doubt you’ll be able to figure out the reasons why at your leisure.’

      ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have that much leisure to waste.’ He sounded abrupt again. ‘I’m going to walk down to the house now, and meet your mother. Are you going to come with me, or have you got more spells to cast?’

      ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll come down with you.’ She felt chilled to the bone, and cold and sick inside.

      ‘Good. I didn’t relish the prospect of being turned into a frog as soon as I turned my back.’

      ‘I think in the circumstances,’ she said tightly, ‘a rat would be more appropriate.’

      ‘If we’re playing at animal similes, I can think of one or two that would fit you quite well too,’ he returned equably, and Morgana flushed in the darkness. After a moment’s pause he turned away and moved off down the hill, without waiting to see if she was following or not. Morgana gritted her teeth and went after him, fumbling in her cape pocket for her own torch. It couldn’t compete with the powerful beam that his flashlight was sending out, but at least it gave her an illusion of independence.

      He